Differentiation
by lybra323
Summary: Differentiation: to treat people or things differently. Kubota never said he was fair. Kubotoki, set in WA universe.


Much thanks to amael for the beta!

* * *

_Time: A few years ago._

_Subject: A teenage girl, "Anna". _

Seven Stars.

Strawberry lip gloss.

Cheap floral perfume.

Groan of pipes.

Thick humidity.

Manicured, polished nails threaded in hair.

Taste of bruises.

Something needy.

Brittle.

* * *

_Time: __Sometime in 1995. _

_Subject: __A middle aged man, "Sanada"._

Royal Ark Vanilla.

Lotte's pear gum.

Expensive cloying cologne.

Hum of the engine.

Air-conditioning.

Arm heavy around shoulder.

Taste of sleaze.

Something oily.

Rotten.

* * *

December 19 1996 6.47pm.

The sky is murky black except for the cluster of light from the street lamps and Tokitoh is cupping his gloved hands around his mouth and exhaling, complaining about the cold. The apartment is just straight ahead and a few more minutes' walk will get you back in the warmth. At least both of you are full are now, no longer hungry and cold as when you made the trip out.

It is at this precise moment snow starts to fall, just a few flakes. You note with curiosity how bewildered Tokitoh appears.

"Hey, Kubo-chan, what's this?"

"Snow."

"Snow?" He echoes your word carefully.

Tokitoh tilts his head towards the sky and little flakes land on his skin, making him scrunch up his face. Still, he is not deterred and soon he is sticking out his tongue and trying to catch the flakes, pulling off his left glove to let it land on his palm, poking at it until it melts.

Then he turns to you and exclaims, wonder in his voice, "Kubo-chan, it's cold! And it disappears!"

"Hai, hai. It's melting."

He looks like a kid then, eyes wide with amazement as he ambles around trying to catch the falling flakes, neck tilting at an uncomfortable angle, shivering when they melt on contact with his warm skin. You think this as you finish your smoke.

He is beginning to look a little frosty with his nose turning red, so you walk over to him, take his glove from him and pull it on for him before grasping his hand and stuffing it into your pocket. You tell him he looks cold and tease him about being the one whining about the temperature just then. You say the two of you should be moving on now before he catches a cold. You didn't expect it to snow and neither of you are dressed for it. You suspect he is on the verge of protesting when you notice how blue and cold his lips look. You think he could use some warming up, and

your lips-

-cold

and it is static in your mind.

When you finally pull away you're mildly surprised he hasn't hit you yet. You would give him two seconds for the shock to hit and thereafter it would all be instinctive, but you're still standing with all body parts intact. He didn't react then, and he's still looking at you. Shock is wearing off, and he looks as though he is considering several different courses of action and doesn't know which to take, leading to inactivity. You remember vaguely another pair of lips that didn't respond; the taste of brittle need and Royal Ark and still others.

Perhaps it is karma.

You smile randomly, turn aside and start walking, pulling him along by his hand.

He quickly falls into step with you, and when you sneak a peek at him he is frowning at the ground, still looking mildly perturbed. You would reach out and ruffle his hair, if your hand was free.

He suddenly turns and cuts into your path, standing right in front of you, making you brake abruptly in your step, though you cover it well. His perpetually gloved hand reaches out for your arm, clutching it a little too tightly. Firm resolve is blatant in his eyes. He tilts his head to meet your eye. You instinctively, unconsciously lower your head as you always do when talking to him and

his lips-

-warm

and it is static.

He quickly turns away, looking both embarrassed and resolute at the same time. This time it is his turn to start marching away and pulling you along, staring straight ahead, breathing out rapid bursts of white condensation. When you catch up with him you don't say anything. You merely squeeze his hand, once, in your coat pocket. You think he looks warmer now. He squeezes back, aligning his arm with yours, hips bumping yours as you walk.

There is only one thing prowling in your mind as the apartment block looms larger.

This time, you kissed back.


End file.
